Performance art: Western painting sanctions a tyranny of product over personal process. Meera wants to change all that. Joseph Gallivan spoke to her

The name of this exhibition, Art In Meditation, is slightly misleading. Meera, the artist, cracks jokes and talks constantly during the act of painting, and is just as likely to wave her arms over the paper in a sweeping movement like one of Pan's People, as to sit cross- legged with her eyes shut.

Her paintings hanging on the walls of the Osho International Gallery (itself a beautiful temple to minimalist cool) look interesting enough. They're a bit Camden markety, lots of turquoise washes, with neon colours and surreal bursts of airbrushing. At first sight you'd think she could make a living doing paint jobs for custom car shows, but contact with the woman changes that. Sprays of glowing cherry blossom, or a gothic ravine under a full moon seem like tired subjects until she explains the process.

The first thing a westerner needs to know is that yes, she can actually paint portraits and places in oils and acrylics. 'I left Japan and studied in Spain, where I fell in love with the work of Goya. Then I came to London purely because of Turner. I love the traditional European artists, but when I heard the Indian mystic Osho I discovered a new way of painting.'

The second thing a westerner needs to do is suspend disbelief when she starts talking about knowing a painting is finished when her 'heartbeat stops and the work seems to come over (her) like a shower.' Treat it as poetic language.

Unfortunately, while the process looks fun, a sceptic might point out that what she paints, after several coats, splashings and sprayings of all the hues from electric pink to black, comes out the colour of cow pat. A video simultaneously showed her work in a commune in Poona, India, where for 50p a day, healthy looking westerners sat around on the floor painting, to the sound of loud Goa trance music, whatever came into their heads.

Meena said she wanted people to learn 'the authentic expression of their interior, hidden self. I teach in 2 months what the universities spend four years on: distance, dimension, proportion, line, colour . . . that's all just technique. To really paint you have to learn to let go.'

She wiped the black smudge off the paper with a J-Cloth. 'It's also about learning to accept your past. Now,' she said, comparing it to one of her airbrushed works on sale for around pounds 3,000, 'Which one do you prefer?'

It got a laugh, and she went back to making marks on the paper, then spreading them with a hairdryer. It was pure play-group, but her point was that people cannot accept this. 'In the commune, when people think they have made a beautiful picture, they want to stop. If they are insistent, I ask them to shut their eyes. Then I dump black all over their work]'

Although she never explained how she made the paintings on the wall, you couldn't accuse her of pulling the wool over people's eyes, simply because she is so happy and open. You should, she says, go home and try painting yourself. 'Painting is like a mirror for your blind spots. You learn about yourself. Once you enter this dimension of chaos, it's wonderful. It can be beautiful, or messed-up. But only through mistakes can you discover things. I think the British are like the Japanese. They are always saying 'sorry'. '

Meera will be painting live today 1-2pm and 5-7pm. All welcome, free. Exhibition continues at the Osho International Gallery, London SW1 (071-925 1900) to 31 Jul

(Photograph omitted)